


FMK

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Let's Play a Game, Randomness, sometimes tumblr inspires me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Bernie and Serena play a game.





	FMK

**Author's Note:**

> So basically tumblr user ddagent asked ktlsyrtis what Serena's response would be if Bernie asked FMK: Ric, Fleur, Raf.  
> I had already been mulling about the idea of Serena and Bernie discussing Ric, and it just kinda went together like...well, like Berena. Enjoy!

“So,” Bernie’s tone is matter-of-fact, with just a hint of playfulness. Serena knows that whatever comes next, it will be good. “Fuck, Marry, Kill.”

“I do hope you’re referring to the hypothetical game,” Serena keeps her gaze focused on the ceiling above her. “And not proposing a marital commitment with a murder-suicide pact at the end.”

Bernie gives a snuffling snort of a chuckle, her gaze still on the ceiling as well. She’s missed so much about physically being with Serena, but this might be her favorite part. The stillness afterwards, lying side-by-side in bed, talking in hushed voices still raspy from sex. Her left hand wanders out, lightly brushing against the warmth of Serena’s right thigh. There’s comfort and familiarity and a rightness that she’s never quite found in anyone else (not that she’s had a long list of conquests to choose from, mind you, but still, none have compared to this).

She’s missed Serena’s teasing as well, and she pushes back with her own, “What? The kill part doesn’t necessarily mean we kill each other. I, for one, think we’d make a great pair of assassins. Me with my army skills and you with your very lovely and distracting—”

“Eyes?” Serena finishes for her, tone soaked in amusement.

“Yes,” Bernie rolls onto her side, placing the lightest of kisses atop Serena’s breast. “I would spend all day lost in your eyes, if I could.”

Her reward is an amused hum and a hand in her hair, gently encouraging her to continue.

“So, what? We get hitched and take our killer instincts on the road?” Serena is willing to entertain any daydream, so long as it involves the blonde whose tongue is currently massaging her nipple and ends with _til death do us part_.

Bernie stops her ministrations to frown slightly at her partner. “Your tone, Campbell, suggests a level of disbelief that I find inappropriate. We could totally pull it off, you know. You just gotta have faith.”

Now Serena’s smiling like the love-struck idiot that she is, as she quietly pulls the blonde’s face back to hers, “Always.”

There’s a hum of approval as mouths meet. But Bernie pulls away too soon, redirecting in her brusque manner, “Seriously, though. Fuck, Marry, Kill. Fletch, Fleur, Ric.”

_Ah, there it is._ Serena tries not to smile at how transparent her lover can be, at times. Despite Serena’s best efforts over the past few hours, Berenice Wolfe still feels a little insecure when it comes to Fleur. The quickness with which Bernie announced the candidates implies that she’s been thinking about this for a while now, and has carefully selected her options, based on things Serena has told her in the past.

Still, she’ll play the game. “Ah…let’s see…fuck Fleur, marry Fletch, and kill Ric.”

Bernie’s face scrunches in adorable confusion. “Really?”

“Really. I’m sorry, did you want a different outcome?” She shouldn’t tease, but really, she can’t help herself. It’s almost a medical condition, at this point.

“Maybe,” Bernie admits quietly, her gaze shifting away.

“I’m not going to fuck Fleur in real life,” Serena reminds her.

Bernie nods, but her lips are pressed together tightly, a sign of disbelief. Serena swallows a sigh of exasperation, but she doesn’t mind the jealousy too much. She would never intentionally make Bernie feel this way, but if she’s being honest, the heat that comes from that jealousy is just a teensy bit erotic. She’s wanted this woman so deeply for so long, it’s nice to be reminded that sense of desire is returned with equal force.

But perhaps someone else is due for a reminder. Serena tightens her grip on those blonde locks, pulling Bernie’s gaze back to her own. She keeps her voice low, serious as death itself, “Berenice Griselda Wolfe, are you in any way doubting just how much I want to fuck you and only you?”

Blush floods Bernie’s cheeks and chest, her eyes darkening delightfully. “And if I was? What would you do about it, Campbell?”

Well, _that’s_ a challenge if Serena’s ever heard one. And she considers it a point of pride that she’s not one to back down from challenges.

Bernie can’t stop the gasp from escaping her lips as Serena’s teeth and tongue find purchase on her throat—she saw it coming, but she couldn’t stop her body’s immediate reaction to any kind of contact with Serena Campbell, even if she tried (she gave up trying a long time ago). Serena keeps one hand in Bernie’s hair, the other slipping up her spine, pressing them closer together, fingertips sinking into soft flesh. Bernie loses any balance she had left, toppling fully onto her lover’s chest with a light skittering sound (and Serena fights the urge to laugh—that’s her Bernie, still afraid of crushing her to death, still unaware that she’s not nearly as big and strong as she thinks she is). Bernie shifts back, pulling Serena with her so that they’re both lying on their sides now, still entwined. Serena slips further down the bed, just slightly, mouth making a trail to Bernie’s collarbone.

This is lovely, Bernie thinks to herself (not a surprising thought—basically the same one she has any time she’s around Serena Campbell and her talented tongue). But damn her mind for coming back to more mundane things.

“You’d really kill Ric?”

Serena stops, brain too hazy to process the question right away. “What?”

“Ric. You’d really kill him?”

Serena doesn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of the moment or cry at the loss of Bernie’s formerly panting state. “Jesus, Wolfe, you really take this game seriously.”

“I take all things seriously,” she intones, and this earns her a laugh. Serena shuffles around, moving back up so that she and Bernie are nose to nose again.

“Yes. I’d have to.”

“Because?”

“Because Fleur is the only one I could even consider fucking, and I have to marry Fletch because if I were married to Ric, I would eventually kill him, if he didn’t kill me first. It’s just a personality thing, I think.”

Bernie gives a philosophical hum, as if they were debating some great Socratic wonder. Serena can see the wheels turning in her lover’s mind as she considers the options, and she can’t help but ask, “What about you? Same options.”

“Oh, I’d kill Fleur,” Bernie answers with a quick nod, no hesitation. Serena laughs at the response, and Bernie smiles, all syrupy and sweet. She’s joking about it now, which means the largest part of her jealousy and insecurity is gone.

“And who would you marry?” Serena asks solicitously.

“Fletch, for certain.”

“So you’d fuck Ric?” There is a note of surprise in Serena’s voice, an unspoken question behind it.

“Of course,” Bernie shifts closer, almost shyly. “I think it’d be amusing. The whole power struggle, watching him try to be all macho-man-in-charge. If I didn’t get an orgasm out of it, at least I’d get a good laugh.”

“Wicked, wicked girl,” Serena’s tone is nothing but absolute approval. She leans in for a kiss. “I think you two would have a romping good time, though. Similar personalities, all that jazz.”

Bernie gives an amused huff at the statement, and Serena lets her mind wander. She and Ric have had many conversations about sex over the years, simply part of the comfortable friendship they’d built. And while there was definitely a fun little _zing_ in all of their encounters, they both knew that sexually, it wouldn’t work. They’d dissected and discussed their preferences, their styles and motivations, and had mutually come to the conclusion that they were too similar in many departments to find a good working balance. Bernie, on the other hand, with her surprising amount of compliance and dash of just-enough defiance and ingenuity, wouldn’t be a bad match. Serena would buy tickets to that show, any day.

“You’re thinking about me and Ric fucking right now, aren’t you?” Bernie’s expression is filled with amusement.

“There are some lovely moments in there,” Serena admits with a smile of her own.

“Hmm. Tell me.”

“Perhaps I can use some…visual aids in my storytelling?”

“Whatever you think best gets the point across,” Bernie remains nonchalant, as if they’re choosing a wine for dinner. Serena loves her for it. Again, this is her Bernie—always game, always up for anything. Yes, Ric would have a smashing time with her adventurous little army medic.

So Serena commits herself to telling a story. One in which Fleur isn’t mentioned at all, and Bernie forgets everything about that silly little hypothetical game and all the undercurrents it contained. A story written across skin and sheets, a story where her sweet darling Bernie is both subject and object and everything in-between.

Briefly, Serena considers sending Ric flowers. He’s earned them, without ever even knowing it.


End file.
